Into the Day
by Elvarya
Summary: Castiel is an orphan, grotesque and deformed, and he's lived his entire life, raised by Michael in the bell tower of Notre Dame. But one day, he leaves his tower, meets a gypsy named Dean, and nothing is ever the same again. Hunchback of Notre Dame AU
1. Chapter 1

I would like to apologize to... Yeah, I'd basically like to apologize to everyone for this. I like rewriting movies as fics, as it turns out, and attempting to rewrite Tangled got so cracky, that I just couldn't go on, SO WHY NOT REWRITE THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME? Yeah, this fic is going to be extremely dark, twisted, and fucked up, so I'm warning you now. If you want to know who characters are, as compared to the movie, Castiel is Quasi, Dean is Esmeralda, Sam is Phoebus, Michael is Frollo, and the gargoyles are probably going to be Gabe, Balthazar, and either Anna, Luci, or Crowley. Idk, if anyone reviews this, how about you tell me? Pairings that will be present will be Destiel, Wincest (though, they aren't brothers in this. Sorry.), and Dean/Michael. It's Castiel and Destiel centric, for the most part. Or will be, I guess. Oh, and I guess I'll put in a disclaimer. I don't own Supernatural, or any of the characters. I'd also like to beg the Mouse not to attack me for this. I don't own Hunchback of Notre Dame, I swear. Please don't kill me.

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><p>Every morning, the people of Paris wake to the bells of Notre Dame. They go about their day to the thunderous toll of the bells. Some say that the soul of the city resides in the bells. But not everyone considers that they don't ring all by themselves.<p>

High up in the bell tower lives the mysterious bell ringer.

Who is this creature? And how did he come to be there?

I will tell you the tale. It is a tale of a monster, and a man.

It was a dark night when I story began. Four frightened gypsies slid silently across the water in a small boat, while the woman desperately tried to quiet her newborn child. They sighed in relief as they saw their guide waiting for them at the docks. They hastily, yet carefully, recounted the payment for passage into Paris.

But a trap had been laid for the gypsies, and they looked up in terror at the figure of Judge John Michael.

Judge Michael envisioned himself the guardian of Paris, determined to purge the world of vice and sin. He looked at the world, and all he saw was corruption, and he saw it everywhere. Everywhere by in himself.

He ordered the guards to bring the gypsies to the Palace of Justice, and then one guard got curious.

"You there!" he called to the woman as he approached, gazing at the bundle held in her arms. "What do you have there? What are you hiding?"

"Stolen goods, no doubt," Michael announced, voice dripping with hatred and malice. "Take them from her."

She had no choice. The gypsy ran, ran for her life, and for one infinitely more precious. Up the stairs she fled, Michael in close pursuit on horseback. She reached the cathedral, the colossal Notre Dame, and pounded on the doors with all of her might, crying, "Sanctuary! Please, I beg of you, give us sanctuary!" But no response came, and Michael, still astride his massive black horse, was almost upon her.

She ran from the door, down the steps, when he finally caught her, pulling the bundle from her arms. The sudden change in balance as Michael leaned forward alarmed the horse and he reared up, hooves coming down on the gypsy woman. She fell beneath the horse, and soon, a pool of blood was forming beneath her crushed skull.

Michael was alarmed to feel the bundle squirming, and became aware of the sound of a sobbing infant, coming from the bundle. "A baby?" he exclaimed, incredulous. He pulled back a layer of the rough fabric, eyes widening as he covered the foul beast. "A monster!"

Looking around wildly, Michael made a beeline for the well, holding the baby over the dark hole and preparing to release, when the voice of the archdeacon rang out with a cry of, "Stop!"

Michael paused, looking over at the short man, who hurried over as quickly as he could, kneeling beside the woman and taking her in his arms with tears in his eyes. "This is an unholy demon!" he declared. "I am sending it back to hell."

The archdeacon glared up at him. "See here, this blood you've spilled on the very steps of the cathedral! This woman was _innocent!_"

"I am guiltless," Michael replied without a care. "She ran, I simply pursued."

The archdeacon was continuing, though. "And now you would add the poor child's blood to your guilt?"

"My conscience is clear!" Michael insisted, voice hardening now. It was obvious that the archdeacon's words were getting to him now.

"Michael, you can lie to yourself and your minions," the archdeacon went on. "And oh, you can claim that you haven't a qualm, but I can guarantee that you can't run or hide your evil deeds from the very eyes of Notre Dame." He thrust one arm out, towards the cathedral, for emphasis. "The statues, they will watch and pursue you wherever you go. This I guarantee you, Your Honor." He spit the judge's title disdainfully.

Michael gazed up at the cathedral in alarm and lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating every facet of the cathedral, and the statues; the faces, both grotesque and beautiful, all glaring judgement down upon him, ready to seize him and drag him into the pit at a moment's notice.

And for the first time in his life, Michael felt a twinge of fear for his immortal soul.

He turned back to the archdeacon, begging him, "What must I do?"

"Care for the child," the archdeacon replied. "Raise it as your own."

"What?" exclaimed the judge. "I'm to be saddled with this misshapen-" He paused, thinking. "Very well. Let him live with you, in your church."

"Live here?" the archdeacon exclaimed. "Where?"

"Anywhere," Michael insisted. "Just so he is kept locked away, where no one else can see. The bell tower, perhaps. Who knows, our Lord works in mysterious ways." _Even this foul creature may one day prove to be of use to me_, the judge thought.

He named the child Castiel, after the angel, but he did not do it out of love or caring. He named the creature thus so that he would always be reminded of the terrible nature of him. The comparison to angels just served to better emphasize his deformity.

Now here is the riddle. Guess, if you please. Who is the monster?

And who is the man?


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews/subs! I woke up to tons of new emails, and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside! I guess I'll make this clear, just in case. I have not read Hunchback of Notre Dame, but I really want to. This is based off of the Disney movie, I have the script of it downloaded. If you haven't seen Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame, please do! It's my favorite Disney Classic. Always has been, always will. Be warned, though, it is extremely fucked up. Just saying. I warned you. Now, on with the story!

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><p>Castiel rushed to the railing, gazing out at the rising son as the last of the bell chimes faded. "Good morning!" he said cheerfully to the small bird he found there in the mouth of one of the angel statues. The bird chirped back at him happily. "Is today the day?" he inquired kindly. "Are you ready to fly?" The bird seemed to chirp in disapproval. "Are you sure?" Castiel continued. "It's a good day to try, isn't it? If I had to pick a day to fly, it would definitely be today. The Festival of Fools!" He tried to keep himself from sighing at the name. The Festival only came around once a year, but it was the best day of the year for Castiel, by far. There were jugglers and performers, musicians and dancers. He could hear the people's shouts and laughter all the way up in his tower, and though he could not join them, their joy brought subsequent joy to the mysterious bell ringer.<p>

The bird had hopped into Castiel's kind, waiting hands at this point, chirping uncertainly. He flapped his wings desperately, and though Castiel could feel him lifting off a bit, it definitely wasn't enough to gain any major altitude.

"You can do it," he encouraged, and the bird tried again, this time managing to lift off, and then he was flying, twittering around Castiel excitedly, and then looking at him expectantly. "Go on!" he said happily. "Nobody wants to be cooped up here forever!"

And off the bird went, flying off into the great big beyond to discover what mysteries lay there, while Castiel was still stuck in his tower.

As soon as the bird was out of sight, Gabriel spit out the feathers and twigs birds had brought to form a nest. "Oh man!" he exclaimed. "I thought he'd never leave!"

"That's what you get for sleeping with your mouth open, darling," Balthazar, another of the angel statues, assured him smugly.

Gabriel chuckled sarcastically. "Yeah, yeah, go scare a nun!" Then he turned to the bell ringer. "Hey, Cas! What's going on out there? A fight? A flogging?"

"A festival!" Balthazar supplied excitedly.

"Wait, today's the Festival of Fools?" Gabriel choked.

"Yes." That was Castiel, now, gazing down at the festival longingly.

"All right!" Gabriel pumped his fists in the air, almost overbalancing himself, but he caught himself just in time. Good thing, too. It wasn't exactly a short drop to the bottom. "Pour the win and cut the cheese, we've got a festival on our hands!"

"It is a treat to watch the colorful pageantry of the simple peasantfolk, isn't it?" As usual, no one was sure if Balthazar was kidding or not, but also as usual, no one really questioned it. They'd all long since learned to just go with it and accept it.

"Hey," Gabriel continued delightedly. "There's nothing like balcony seats for watching the ol' Festival of Fools!"

"Yeah," Castiel agreed dejectedly. _"Watching."_

Gabriel was about to spit down on one of the performers when Balthazar stopped him and gestured to Castiel, who was wandering back to the scarred wooden table in the middle of the large room, where he'd placed his carved wooden figurines.

"Hey, what gives?" Gabriel demanded.

"Aren't you planning to watch the Festival with us?" Balthazar inquired.

"I don't get it."

"Perhaps he's sick?"

"Impossible," supplied Crowley, the only of the three statues who wasn't the figure of an angel. Crowley was, instead, the figure of a demonic gargoyle, but anyone who knew him (ergo, Castiel, Gabriel, and Balthazar) knew that he was mostly made up sarcasm and snark, rather than any actual evil. "If twenty years of listening to you two hasn't made him sick by now, nothing will." Exhibit A.

"But watching the Festival of Fools has always been a highlight of the year for Castiel," Balthazar said. "Something has to be wrong."

"Please, angel," Crowley said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "What good is _watching_ the party if you never get to _hear_ it? Or experience it? He's not lucky enough to be made of stone like we are." Exhibit B.

Crowley approached Castiel, who was busy at work with his model of the city. The cathedral towered above all other buildings and one could easily make an accurate plan of the city from that vantage point. Castiel certainly had! He had a full model of the city, complete with small, yet extremely detailed, wooden models of some of the citizens he'd seen, and also some of the ones he hadn't. Some were simply imagined people, created to fill his imagined city with some amount of joy. Someone had to.

"Okay, Cas, what's wrong?" Crowley demanded. "You want to tell good ol' Crowley all about it?"

"I just don't want to watch the Festival," Castiel responded, though he refused to meet Crowley's gaze.

"Well, have you ever thought of actually going one year?" Crowley inquired excitedly.

Castiel shook his head, though. "I'd never fit in down there. I'm not… I'm not normal."

"Okay, kid, you need to stop beating around the bell tower," Gabriel decided.

"As your friends and guardians, we insist you attend the festival," Balthazar agreed.

"Who, me?" Castiel exclaimed. Of course, he'd entertained the idea of leaving the tower, attending some festival or another, many times over the years, but he'd never _seriously_ considered it. There'd never been a chance of him actually leaving the church. That was just crazy talk!

"No, the pope," Balthazar said, sarcasm evident. "Of course you, you lump! It would be an…educational experience." He was trying to appeal to as many sides of Castiel as he could at once, and it was working.

"Wine, women, and song!" exclaimed Gabriel. "All the education you need!"

"You could learn to identify various cheeses," Balthazar supplied.

"Also, allow me to introduce you to something called _chocolate_, my friend," Gabriel went on.

"Indigenous folk music, too." Balthazar was starting to list things now.

"And the pranks, my friend!" His glee was palpable. "Oh, the pranks!"

Crowley was the one to finally reclaim some sense of rationality. "Cas, take it from an old spectator. Life isn't a spectator sport. If you're just going to keep watching, you'll soon have watched your entire life pass by. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, you're human," agreed Gabriel, "with the flesh…and the hair…and the naval lint. Us?" He gestured to himself and the two other statues. "We're just part of the architecture, figments of your imagination."

"What was that?" inquired Castiel, unsure what the last, mumbled part had been.

"Nothing!" Gabriel assured him quickly.

"Cas," Crowley said, drawing his attention away from Gabriel. "Go on, grab a fresh tunic, clean a pair of hose, and-"

Castiel cut him off. "Thanks for all the encouragement, guys, but you're all forgetting one _very_ important thing."

"What?" they all asked in unison.

"Michael." And with that one word, that one name, they all deflated at once with a chorus of "oh yeah's" and "yeah, right's."

"Well, surely when he says you're forbidden from leaving the tower, he can't mean…_forever_, can he?" Balthazar pointed out. "I mean, surely he'll let you out eventually!"

"No, he says I'm _never_ leaving!" Castiel despaired. "And worse, he _hates_ the Festival of Fools. He'd be furious if I asked to go."

"So, why do you have to ask?" Gabriel pointed out.

Castiel's eyes widened. "Oh, no, I couldn't…"

"Just sneak out..." Gabriel encouraged.

"It's just one afternoon!" Crowley agreed.

"I couldn't-" insisted Castiel.

"…and then just sneak back in," Gabriel finished.

"He'll never know you were gone, Cas!" Balthazar joined in on the encouragement now.

"But, if I got caught," Castiel sputtered.

"Better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission," Balthazar quoted in his strangely pointed manner.

"He might see me!" Castiel asserted.

"Then wear a disguise," was Gabriel's reply, and Castiel's excuses were getting wilder. He was having more difficulties finding them. "Do it just this once! What Michael doesn't know, can't hurt you,"

"Ignorance is bliss," Balthazar agreed.

"Nobody wants to stay cooped up here forever," Crowley reminded him.

Castiel took a moment to think. He was at war within himself. He wanted to go to the festival so badly, but at the same time, he knew that he shouldn't. He should obey Michael and stay in the tower.

But the festival was calling to him! He'd spent his life looking down at the festival, wondering what it was like to be among them, among the normal people. This could be his one chance! Finally! A smile creeped across Castiel's deformed face.

"You're right!" he decided, looking around at the statues in delight. "I'll go!" His declaration was met with cheers. "I'll get cleaned up." More cheers. "I'll stroll down those stairs." More cheers. "I'll march through the doors and-"

He was cut off as Michael walked in


	3. Chapter 3

I think this fic is turning me into a _terrible_ person. I hated what I had to put into this chapter! And I know it's only going to get worse, ack! I still love it, though. I already know this fic is going to be dark and agsty. And let me tell you, I practically survive on angst. I'm going to blame my Sabriel RP partner for that. Every time we try to have happiness, she's just like LET'S MAKE GABE ANGSTY NOW! Yeah... I'm now addicted to angst, all thanks to Agu. Anyways! Sidenote, it was recommended that I do a Tarzan AU for Dean and Castiel as well, and I'm honestly considering it! Rewriting movies, especially Disney movies like these, is so much fun. But I'm wondering, does anyone else have ideas for what movies I could make into AUs? Tell me in a review, if you want! No guarantees on anything, but I'll certainly consider it! Just let me know :3

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><p>"Good morning, Castiel," Michael said as he walked into the open space of the tower.<p>

"Oh, um, good morning, Michael," Castiel sputtered, blood running cold and wondering just how much Michael had heard.

"My dear boy, who, may I ask, were you talking to?" There was an edge of disdain in Michael's tone, but Castiel knew better than to call Michael out on even the most blatant, outright insults.

"My…friends," he finally admitted, struggling over the second word. It felt strange upon his tongue, and he couldn't remember exactly having said it before. He hadn't really had a chance, the only people he'd ever met were Michael and the archdeacon, and one angry churchgoer in an unfortunate incident a few years before, but that wasn't something anyone really liked to get into.

"I see," Michael nodded as he tapped Gabriel on the head. "And what are your _friends_ made of, Castiel?" He was always like that-so formal. He never called him anything but Castiel. Not Cas or anything else. _Castiel_ was all that would do for one as upstanding as Michael. Castiel suspected there was some disdain in it, but he was never completely sure.

"Stone," he finally conceded.

"And can stone talk?" Michael continued. His face was still firmly set, as ever, but there was a definite sneer in his tone.

"No, it can't," Castiel mumbled.

"That's right," Michael agreed, breezing past Castiel. "You're a smart lad. Now, time for lunch."

Michael sat at the small, scarred wooden table while Castiel retrieved the settings-identical plates for both of them, and while Michael had a decadent silver chalice, Castiel drank from a crude wooden cup.

"Shall we review your alphabet, then?" Michael asked as Castiel poured the wine. Michael popped a perfect grape into his mouth; Castiel ate a lump of stale bread.

"Yes, Michael," Castiel said after hurriedly swallowing his bread. "I would like that very much." There was an obvious reluctance in his voice, but Michael was either ignoring it or had long since grown accustomed to it.

"Very well. A?"

"Abomination," Castiel supplied, working from memory.

"B?"

"Blasphemy."

"C?"

"Contrition?" That one always gave him trouble.

"D?"

"Damnation." He was certain about that one.

"E?"

"_Eternal_ damnation." That one never gave him difficulties either.

"Good," Michael said. The side of his mouth twitched up in what could almost be called a smile; when it came to Michael, it was close enough. "And F?"

"Festival," Castiel blurted, eyes widening as he realized his mistake. Michael, who had been taking a draught of the wine, choked and coughed, eyes bulging dangerously. "I mean forgiveness!"

"You said 'festival,'" Michael accused through his teeth.

"No!" Castiel exclaimed, panicking.

"You are thinking about going to the festival, are you?" Michael was getting extremely worked up about this.

"I-it's just that," Castiel's mind flew, searching through an excuse. "You go every year, and I thought…"

"I'm a public official!" Michael reminded him. "I have to go, but I assure you, I don't enjoy a moment of it!" He reigned himself in, restoring himself to his former control. "Thieves and hustlers and the dregs of humankind, all mixed together in a shallow, drunken stupor. There is _nothing_ to enjoy there, Castiel."

"I didn't mean to upset you, Michael," Castiel murmured, almost afraid to raise his voice any louder.

"Castiel, do you understand?" Michael said. He sounded almost caring in that moment, but his voice was marred by…something. Castiel couldn't quite tell what, though. "When your heartless mother abandoned you as a child, any one else would have drowned you on the spot!" Michael met his gaze seriously. "And this is how you thank me? For taking you in? Raising you as my own?"

"I'm sorry!" Castiel exclaimed. "Please, forgive me."

"Oh, my dear Castiel," Michael said, almost as if he hadn't heard the other man's words. "You don't know what it's like out there. But I do… I do. The world is cruel, wicked, and it is I along whom you can trust in this entire city. I, Castiel, am your only friend. I who keep you, teach you, feed you, dress you, who looks upon you without fear! How can I protect you, unless you always stay in here?" He paused, then continued, voice getting stronger. "You are deformed."

"I am deformed," Castiel repeated.

"And you are ugly."

"And I am ugly," he repeated once more.

"I assure you, these are crimes for which the world shows very little pity. You do not understand, Castiel."

"You are my one defender." He wasn't sure if he actually believed it, but he didn't want to incur andy more of the man's anger.

"Out there, people will revile you. They will call you a monster."

"I am a monster," Castiel went on, receiving an approving nod every time he spoke.

"They would hate you, gift you only with jeers and scorn. Of this, I am certain!" Michael leaned forward, lacing his fingers together in front of his face. "Why invite their calumny and consternation? Please, just stay in here, be grateful, be faithful. Just…please obey me, Castiel. Stay in this tower."

"I will stay." Castiel's head fell. "You are good to me, Michael. Please, forgive me."

"You are forgiven," Michael told him. "But remember, Castiel. This tower is your sanctuary."

"Sanctuary…" Castiel said. The word was strange upon his tongue. He'd never thought of the tower as such before, and he wasn't sure how accurate of a description it really was.

Michael left, then, leaving behind the grapes, almost completely uneaten. Castiel didn't touch them, though. He instead wandered to the railing, gazing down at the street below and wondering, what would it be like, to be down there, living among them? What would it be like, to be normal? To live a life among the other citizens of Paris? Not above them but _part_ of them. He'd often wondered this, but he'd never felt a longing this strong before.

He sighed, staring down at the beginnings of the festival. The festivities hadn't officially started yet, but there was already music, dancing, performing, and a general crowd present.

Oh, what he'd give to be down there with them


	4. Chapter 4

Some could argue that I'm updating this too quickly... I mean, it's been what, twenty minutes since I posted chapter three? But Sam is in this chapter! And I like how he's turning out so far. And we get our first glimpse of Dean! Sorry, I'm being a bit spoilery now... Still looking for future Disney AU suggestions, though! Please?

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><p>Sam walked through the streets, consulting his map in confusion, turning it several different directions to try to make some sense. He turned to Achilles, his horse, but the horse clearly had no answers. It had been almost ten years since he'd been in Paris, and it had changed quite a bit in that time.<p>

"Excuse me, gentleman!" he called to a group of three men passing by. "I'm looking for the Palace of Justice. Would you-" But the the men ignored him and kept walking without a single sideward glance. "I guess not," he said, to himself. No one was listening to him anyways.

Nearby, a gypsy man by the name of Dean sat, playing a strange three-stringed instrument while a goat, which he affectionately called Pala, jumped around in an amusing imitation of a dance. A young child walked by, looking upon the pair with wide, happy eyes, but the child's mother grabbed her hand and quickly steered them away with a mutter of filth and thieves.

Sam walked by and discretely dropped a few coins into the weathered hat at the man's feet. He didn't really want to be seen giving a gypsy money; as a captain, it was generally seen as being in bad taste. However, he'd been raised with a strong moral principal, and refused to pass up a chance to help a man who, judging by the amount of other coins in the hat, was hard pressed for money. Sam moved on, but he didn't get far before he heard a guard interrogating the man.

"All right, gypsy," the guard said, practically yelled, though there was only a few feet between him and the man. "Where'd you get the money?"

"For your information," the man said, his voice possessing a slight accented edge, "I earned it."

The guard scoffed. "Gypsies don't earn money."

Another guard approached now. "You steal it?"

The gypsy man scoffed right back. "Well, you'd know a lot about stealing, wouldn't you?"

"Troublemaker!" the first guard accused.

"Maybe a day in the stocks will cool you down," the second agreed.

They seized the gypsy man roughly and hauled him to his feet, but he struggled and he wiggled free. The guards chased him, but Sam deftly maneuvered Achilles so that he cut the guards off, and let the running man pass, though most of his coins were scattered across the ground where he'd been sitting. The guards fell to the ground, and seeing that one of them was in _just_ the right spot, Sam commanded, "Achilles, sit!"

The horse immediately obeyed, it's rump coming down on a surprised guard.

"Oh, dear!" Sam feigned, surprised that he was able to hold back his laughter so well. "I'm sorry!" He turned to Achilles, giving him a scolding finger, and in an exaggerated voice, saying, "Naughty, naughty! He's just impossible! I can't take him anywhere."

"Get him off me!" the guard gasped.

The first guard had gotten his footing back, now, and approached Sam, pulling a dagger out of his belt. "I'll teach you a lesson, peasant!"

In reply, Sam pulled out a full length sword, shining in the sunlight, as compared to the rusting three-inch blade of the guard's dagger. "You were saying, _lieutenant_?"

The guard's eyes widened. "Oh, I apologize, Captain, I didn't realize! At your service, sir!"

Sam sheathed his sword, raising an eyebrow, and bending down next to the guard who was still struggling beneath the weight of Achilles. "Look, I know you have a lot on your mind right now, but…the Palace of Justice?"

The guards quickly agreed to escort him, clearing the path with called of, "Make way!" and "Move aside!" Before departing, Sam scooped up the spilled coins, dropping them in a familiar weather beaten hat as they made their way to the Palace.

They arrived at the Palace of Justice soon enough, where he finally met with the Judge John Michael he'd heard so much about. They met in the hall on one of the upper levels, outside of a chamber where he could clearly hear the crack of a whip and the cries of a man, nearly stretched to his breaking point. The Judge seemed unfazed.

"Guard!" Michael called, summoning one of the men from the room. He looked haggard, but still determined. He was young, too, but there was no youth in his eyes.

"Ease up and wait between lashings," Michael instructed. "Let him feel it. Otherwise, the older sting may dull him to the new." His words were punctuated by another crack of the whip and another cry from the man.

"Yes, sir!" the guard exclaimed, hurrying back into the cell.

Michael turned to Sam. "Ah, so this is the gallant Captain Winchester, home from the wars."

"Reporting for duty, as ordered, sir," Sam responded in a clipped, practiced tone. He'd been through this drill before. It was nothing new to him. It was, however, the first time introductions with his ranking officer took place with prisoner being tortured in the next room.

"Your service record precedes you, Sam," Michael intoned. "I shall expect nothing but the best from a war hero of your caliber."

"I assure you, you shall have it," Sam replied. It was still nothing new. He'd made a habit of throwing himself into his missions and orders, and it'd served him well over the years. Almost gotten him killed on more than one occasion, sure, but at least he had rank.

"Yes, good." An odd look came across the Judge's face. "You know, my last captain of the guard was, well, let's call him a _disappointment_." Another whip crack, another scream, and Michael's eyes flicked to the door. Sam's eyes widened, and he rocked back on his heels slightly, but he said nothing. Military life was about obedience, and he was extremely practiced. "Well, no matter. I'm sure you'll whip my men into shape in no time. Walk with me, Captain."

"Um, thank you, sir," Sam stammered. "Very, uh, trem-uh, a tremendous honor, sir." He followed the Judge, and they came out into a covered pathway, a stone railing enclosing the space. It was near the top of the Palace of Justice; the only parts of the building that were above them were the four short towers, one at each corner.

Michael's eyes flicked, but he did not comment. He, instead, said, "You came to Paris at her darkest hour, Captain. It will take a firm hand to save the weak minded from being so easily misled."

"Misled, sir?" He was unsure of the Judge's meaning.

"Look, Captain, the _gypsies_." He said the word with such blatant disgust. "The gypsies live outside the normal order. Their heathen ways inflame the people's lowest instincts. They must be stopped."

Sam was a bit surprised by this, and his surprise made him bold. "You mean, I was summoned from the _warfront_ to capture _fortune tellers_ and _palm readers_?"

Michael let out a laugh. "Oh, the real war, Captain, is what you see here before you. For twenty years, I have been taking care of the gypsy problem one…by…one." There were a few ants crawling across the tile railing. On each of his final words, he crushed an ant with a finger. He then flipped the tile, revealing scores of the creatures crawling around beneath. "And yet, for all of my success, they have thrived, have they not?" He met Sam's eyes seriously. "I believe they have a safe haven, within the walls of this very city. A nest, if you will. They call it the Court of Miracles."

"And what are we going to do about it, sir?" Sam inquired, almost afraid to hear the answer, but unable to stop himself from asking. Michael didn't answer. Rather, he slammed the tile back down into its place, upside down now, and turned it, ensuring the death of each ant beneath it. "You make your point quite vividly, sir."

Michael smiled. "You know, I think I like you, Captain. Shall we?" He gestured to the far door. Nearby, the crowd of peasants attending the festival rang out in cheers, and Michael seemed to deflate slightly. "Oh, duty calls." He turned to Sam. "Have you ever attended a peasant festival, Captain?"

"Not recently, sir," he admitted.

"Then this should be quite educational for you. Come along.


	5. Chapter 5

So, this update is actually pretty long! Also, in a review, I received to request to take more liberties with the plot and dialogue. To answer this, I shall explain my process for this. I have the script downloaded, and I'm using that to go along and keep with the plot. I don't want to change the plot much, though I will be taking one major liberty towards the end, but you guys don't need to know about that yet ;3 About dialogue, I write it with dialogue pretty close to the movie, and then change it later. It wasn't a problem with my Titanic AU, because I posted all of that in one part, but I made the decision to post this in separate parts, meaning I don't go back and change the dialogue before I post it. In the next couple chapters (because I wrote 3 1/2 chapters last night after my update) I do take a few more liberties with the dialogue, but I apologize if it seems like I'm just copying the script. I'll try to make more of an effort to make it my own in the future. Now, onto the chapter!

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><p>As soon as Michael left, Castiel's initial boldness returned. He climbed down the side of the cathedral, using the familiar hand and foot holds to support himself. It was almost as if the cathedral was designed to be climbed; it had all the perfect nooks and crannies, as long as one was willing to be confident about it. Castiel and nothing and no one to live for, so he climbed around the cathedral without a whole lot of regard for what he happened to him.<p>

He reached the ground quickly, being careful to keep his cloak pulled around him closely.

Nearby, a harlequin that has been referred as Ash sang an excited song, proclaiming it to be 'Topsy Turvy Day' and making all sorts of claims about the festival. Everywhere he looked, there was Ash singing, or people singing along with him. He almost seemed to be singing to Castiel, which scared him a bit.

He wandered aimlessly. He was just trying to find something a bit less alarming, but he wasn't paying attention to where he was going, and he crashed through the side of a tent, barging in on a gypsy man who was clearly getting ready for his performance.

The man was on his feet at once, obviously alarmed, but the first thing he said was, "Are you okay?" He helped Castiel back to his feet.

"I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to," Castiel stammered, acutely aware that this was the only person he'd ever spoken to who wasn't Michael or the archdeacon, or who didn't renounce and revile him instantly. Though, his hood was still up. "I'm sorry," he repeated, hanging his head.

"You're not hurt, are you?" the gypsy man repeated. "Here, here, let's see."

"No, no, no!" Castiel cried as the man tried to pull the hood away. The gypsy succeeded, though. The goat seemed to sneer at him, but the man had almost no reaction. He didn't flinch. His eyes didn't even widen.

"There, see?" He said, giving Castiel a smile. "Just be more careful in the future. I'm Dean, by the way." He offered Castiel a hand.

"I-I-I will," Castiel assured him, stammering again. "And I'm, um, I'm Castiel," he added quickly.

He turned to leave again. "Well, I'll see you around, Cas." Dean gave him a genuine smile, and Castiel almost wished he could stay there, to look at this beautiful man's smile some more, listen to the way he said 'Cas,' but he knew he had to go. He couldn't stay much longer. He started to walk, but turned back as Dean added with a wink, "And by the way, great mask!"

Castiel hurried from the tent, and was once more assaulted from all sides by the people's cheers and celebrations. Ash seemed to have organized the entire crowd into his Topsy Turvy Day song, and everyone was singing and laughing. It was chaos.

Castiel caught sight of Michael in the crowd, accompanied by a man in armor with wavy brown hair, a man he didn't recognize. Judging by the man's vicinity to Michael, he was the new Captain. Michael'd had…_problems_ with his last one, that much he knew.

Ash hopped on stage, still singing his Topsy Turvy song, his voice surprisingly loud as compared to the volume of the rest of the crowd, and then, there was a puff of smoke, and Dean appeared on stage, wearing a brightly colored costume, face painted with an intricate design. He was almost unrecognizable, but because he was the only other person Castiel had ever been in close, personal proximity to, he recognized him immediately.

The goat was there, too, dancing next to Dean. It was a mostly comical dance, and the crowd went wild for it.

"Look at that man," Michael snarled, "that disgusting display, putting himself out for viewing of the masses, degrading us all with his gypsy presence."

Sam simply nodded and made some sort of noncommittal but generally agreeing noise. He _was_ watching the gypsy, though, whom the harlequin had introduced as Dean. He quiet enjoyed watching this strange man, the motions of his body, the way his brown hair caught the light. Even disguised with paints and exuberant colors, anyone could see he was an attractive man, and Sam was taking notice.

Then Dean was making his way towards them, dancing his way through the laughing crowd, and up onto the platform on which Michael and Sam were currently residing. He forced himself into Michael's lap and kissed him on the cheek, turning the Judge bright red with rage. He tried to grab Dean, but the gypsy was gone by the time Michael could recover himself enough to make an attempt, leaving the handkerchief on Michael's head, getting angrier by the second.

"And now," rang out Ash's voice, "Time to crown the new King of Fools! I assume you all remember last year's king?" The crowd cheered as a man was carried forth in on an exuberant throne, obviously drunk as his head lolled to the side. "So, make a face that's horrible and frightening!" Ash cried, continuing with his song. "Make a face as gruesome as a gargoyle!" Up in the tower, Crowley scowled in offense. "For, he who is ugliest shall be the King! Why…?"

"Topsy turvy!" the crowd cried with glee.

"Ugly folks, forget your shyness!" the harlequin continued, met by the same cheer repeated by the crowd. "You could soon be called Your Highness! Put your foulest features on display, be the King of Topsy Turvy Day!"

And then people were being volunteered and pulled up on stage. Castiel somehow, inexplicably found himself among them. Most of the contestants were wearing elaborate mask, and Dean was moving down the line, pulling the masks off of them one by one. Each was, admittedly, hideous beneath the masks, but none, obviously, as bad as Castiel's own flesh, unhidden by any mask.

With each unveiling, the crowd's cheers grew louder, and then Dean was standing right beside Castiel. He reached forward, tried to pull the mask off, but his fingers simply pulled at the flesh, leaving a single scratch across Castiel's cheek. Dean gave him a surprised look and the cheers from the crowd quieted. A single cry rang out from a man, saying, "That's no mask!"

Michael leaned forward in his chair, eyes narrowing as he realized what he was seeing.

Ash, however, sprang into action. "Ladies and gentleman, please, don't panic!" he cried, practically bouncing with excitement. "We asked for the ugliest face in Paris, did we not?" There was a general murmur of agreement. "Well, here it is! Castiel, the hunchback of Notre Dame!"

And upon this declaration, the crowd went wild once more, singing songs of praise to Castiel, the King of the Fools, as he was swept up onto a makeshift circular platform, made from a worker's wheel. Castiel was initially shy, but he found his confidence and raised his hands high and grinned, his ugly, twisted smile bringing still louder cheers from the masses before him. All eyes were on him for the first time in his life; it was exhilarating.

Two guards nearby, however, had a different idea.

"You think that's ugly?" one of them said to the other. "How about this?" He seized a single rotten tomato and hurled it at Castiel as hard as he could. It struck Castiel and burst against his chest. Castiel was stunned, and the crowd quieted for a moment before ringing out again, obviously loving this twist. "Now, that's ugly!" the guard shouted in glee.

"Hail to the king!" the other guard mockingly called with a laugh.

The guard threw another tomato, and soon, and crowd was pelting him with all sorts of rotten food. Shouts rang out from all directions, and soon enough, ropes flew at him, pulling him down to the wheel he was standing on, binding him there, and still, more food flew at him, more ropes were thrown across him. The strange position strained the fabric across his back, tearing it right down the middle, and only further humiliating him. The wheel was spun, much to the amusement of the crowd.

"Michael!" Castiel cried, only able to catch short glimpses of Michael in the crowd. "Michael, please! Help me!"

Sam had seen enough. "Sir, I request permission to put an end to this," he said quickly, gazing at Castiel with nothing but concern.

"In just a moment, Captain," came Michael's delayed reply. His eyes were drinking in every moment of the brutal display, obviously enjoying it. "There is a lesson that must be learned here."

Then the crowd went silent, except for a few murmurs. Sam and Michael looked over to the stage, and there was Dean, ascending the steps. The paint had been removed from his face, though he was still clad in his extravagant costume. He approached Castiel slowly, hands out in front of him in a generally calming manner.

"Don't be afraid," he murmured. "I'm sorry." He fell to his knees beside Castiel, green eyes filled with sadness, remorse, and concern. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

"You!" Michael cried, jumping to his feet. "Gypsy, get down at once!"

"Yes, your honor," Dean shouted back. "Just as soon as I free this poor man."

"I forbid it!" Michael exclaimed, turning red once more.

Dean wasn't listening, though, and he whipped a knife out of his waistband. Castiel's eyes widened in alarm as Dean came closer, but the blade never came into contact with his skin as Dean quickly sliced through the ropes binding him.

"You dare to defy me?" Michael screamed, taking a few threatening steps towards the gypsy, but he didn't dare leave his platform. He held himself in far too high esteem to walk amongst commoners in that way.

Dean rose to his feet, his stance portraying nothing but confidence as his voice grew in strength and volume. "You mistreat this poor man in in much the same way you mistreat my people every day. You speak of justice, yet you are cruel to those most in need of your help."

"Silence!" Michael commanded. He'd reached the edge of the platform now. He could either stay there, doing nothing about the insubordination staring him in the face, sowing the seeds of defiance in the citizens of Paris, or he could bow to the gypsy, and then where would he be?

"Justice!" the gypsy demanded, voice ringing through the courtyard, clear and true.

Michael's voice darkened. "Mark my words, gypsy, you will _pay_ for this insolence!"

"I guess we crowned to wrong fool, then," he proclaimed, raising his chin stubbornly. "Because you're the only fool I see!"

"Captain Winchester, arrest him!" Michael commanded. Sam nodded to his guards, who began moving towards Dean, but the crowd wasn't letting them pass easily. Even so, they surrounded the stage, moving to arrest him.

"Now, let's see," Dean said, almost seeming amused by the situation. He made a show of counting the guards. "Ten of you, and one of me. How am I gonna get out of this one?" He seemed to despair for a moment, and then he was engulfed in a cloud of smoke. When it cleared, Dean was gone.

"Sorcery!" Michael cried. His hands were clenched into fists, but still, there was nothing he could do.

"Hey, guards!" came a patronizing call, and all heads turned. Dean was on top of a seller's cart. The guards hastened towards them, but it was no use. By the time they got there, he was gone, jumping from cart to cart, using the roofs of buildings to aid in their little game of cat and mouse. The crowd cheered every time He evaded the guards, obviously biased in the direction of Dean over that of the guards. Dean was momentarily lost in the frenzy of the crowd, and then he was gone.

Michael turned to Sam in a rage. "Find him, Captain!" His eyes narrowed. "I want him alive." He mounted his horse and rode over to Castiel, who was gingerly nursing his wounds and holding his torn shirt around him to fight off the cool January air.

His head hung low. "I'm sorry, Michael," he whispered. "I will never disobey again."

Rain began to fall as Castiel hurried to the entrance of the cathedral. He pulled the door open, entered, and quickly closed the door on his freedom without even look back. His face was wet enough that he wasn't exactly sure if tears were mingled in with the moisture on his face. He wouldn't be surprised if they were, though. Michael had been right. the world was cruel and evil, and he wouldn't have had to endure such a terrible experience if he'd simply listened to him before.

He climbed to his tower quickly, sitting in his corner and letting the tears flow. There was no doubt as to their presence this time. He gave into them completely, until they were the only things he could feel, and eventually, just like the rain, they stopped, leaving only the dreary, wet reminder of it in their wake


	6. Chapter 6

Oh, look, Michael is being creepy as fuck in this chapter! It was kind of difficult to incorporate the song into this, but I didn't want to lose it, so I'm sorry if it seems awkward. I have one more completed chapter to post today, so I'll try to get that posted soon, but I need to do some editing first. :)

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><p>By the time the rain stopped, it was evening and the light was fading, turning the sky from blue to violet. The guards were all on alert, searching for Dean, but to no avail. He easily disguised himself and Pala as an old, humpbacked man. He sneaked into the church when he thought none of the guards were watching, and pulled the cloak back once he was inside.<p>

There was one guard watching, though. Sam recognized the cloak and distinct humpbacked form and followed Dean into the church. He walked up behind him, as silently as he could, but Dean inevitably noticed the signs of another person's presence and whirled on Sam, grabbing the Captain's sword as he did so. In a flash, Sam found himself with a blade at his neck-one he knew for a fact was _very_ sharp-and at the mercy of the gypsy.

Dean's eyes flicked with recognition. "You!" He easily forced Sam to the floor with the threat of a slit throat-and a painful nick to the chin-and held him there with the tip of the blade.

"Easy, easy!" Sam said, holding his hands out in what he hoped was a calming gesture. "I just shaved this morning."

"Oh really?" Dean asked, evidently playing along with the flat joke. "You missed a spot."

"All right, all right!" Sam exclaimed, adam's apple bobby like crazy, not wanting another nick to the neck. "Just calm down. Give me a chance to apologize."

"For what?" Dean made the mistake of letting his guard down. It was just for a moment, but it was enough for Sam to take advantage of it and grab the sword from his hands, turning it on him.

"Well, that, for example," Sam said, a bit more confident now that his continued existence was no longer in question. He smirked slightly.

"You sneaky son of a-" Dean began, but Sam cut him off.

"Ah, ah, ah!" he exclaimed, gesturing to his general surroundings. "Watch the language."

Dean reached for a large candelabra nearby. "You this charming to all the guys you fight, or am I just lucky?" He swung the candelabra like a sword, aiming it at Sam, who deftly blocked it with his sword.

Between slashes and parries, some strange sort of conversation went on.

Jab. "Candlelight…" Jab. "Privacy…" Block. "Music." Feint. "Cant think of a better place for-" Fake right, swing left. Curse self for leaving an opening, and count blessings that opponent only has a candelabra as a weapon. "-hand-to-hand combat!" Sam let out a laugh. "You fight almost as well as a soldier."

"Funny," Dean commented between a particularly ruthless string of blows, all of which Sam knocked aside without difficulty, though his arm was beginning to tire. It had been a while since he'd fought anyone who swung so hard. "I was about to say the same thing about you."

"Aw, that's hitting a little below the belt." Another jab, another parry, and nothing changed. They were pretty equally matched, he had to admit.

"No, this is!" Dean exclaimed, aiming for Sam's crotch. He blocked the blow easily, but his surprise left most of his body open, and he received a nice blow to the face.

"Touche," Sam admitted. Pala wildly butted him in the chest. "Didn't know you had a kid," he commented dryly as he leaned away from another blow.

"Well, he doesn't take kindly to soldiers." There was a shrug in Dean's tone, but his body was all tensed poise.

The fight was basically over, though. They'd bother stopped, aware that it was going nowhere, they were just tiring themselves out.

"Noticed that," Sam nodded. "Please, permit me, I'm Sam. And you are?"

"Is this an interrogation?" Dean demanded, forever distrustful.

"I'd call it an introduction," Sam deadpanned.

Dean cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "Wh aren't you arresting me?"

Sam shook his head in turn. "As long as you're in here. I can't."

"You're not like the other soldiers," Dean observed.

"Thanks," Sam replied with a smile.

"So, if you're not going to arrest me," continued a slightly confused Dean, "what do you want?"

"Well, I'd settle for your name," Sam pressed, giving Dean another smile.

He considered for a cautious moment, then said, "Dean."

"I like it," Sam decided. "Seems to fit you."

Dean was about to ask exactly what that meant when Michael's voice rang across the church. "Excellent work, Captain Winchester! Now, arrest him."

Sam turned to Dean quickly and whispered, "Claim sanctuary!" Dean gave him an odd look. "Say it! Now!"

"You tricked me!" he accused.

"I'm waiting, Captain," Michael said.

"I'm sorry, sir," Sam said as he turned around. "He's claimed sanctuary. There's nothing I can do."

Michael's nostrils flared. "Then drag him outside and-"

Now it was the archdeacon's turn for his voice to ring out across the church. "Michael! You will do no such thing." He approached the group, turning to Dean and saying, "Don't worry. Michael learned many years ago to respect the sanctity of the church."

The archdeacon turned his glare on Michael, who quickly ordered his men to leave, and he followed them towards the door. However, as soon as the archdeacon turned away, he slipped to the side, hiding among the pillars where none would see him, waiting. He doubled back, finding a spot where he could watch Dean and the archdeacon without himself being observed. The archdeacon spoke a few words to Dean, and then left to get on with his other duties.

As soon as Dean was alone, he approached from the shadows, grabbing Dean from behind and twisting the man's arm. If Dean even _tried_ to move, he'd be left with a broken arm. He leaned in, murmuring into Dean's ear, "You think you've outwitted me, don't you? Well you're wrong. I am a patient man, and gypsies don't do well inside stone walls."

He leaned closer, pressing his nose against Dean's exposed neck and feeling the warm flesh there, the pulse beating faintly below the skin. He inhaled deeply, taking in the rich, musky scent of the man.

"What are you doing?" Dean demanded indignantly.

Michael dragged a finger across Dean's skin. "I was just imagining a rope around your neck."

Dean pulled away, wincing as his arm was further twisted, but Michael released him.

"I know what you were thinking," Dean spat angrily.

"Such a clever gypsy," marveled Michael disdainfully. "So typical of your kind to twist the truth and cloud the mind with such unholy thoughts. Well, no matter." He turned to leave, calling back over his shoulder. "You've chosen a magnificent prison for yourself, I'll give you that. But nevertheless, it is a prison. Set one foot outside, and you're mine!"

As soon as Michael left, he rushed to the other entrance, but there were two guards there. "Michael's orders," he heard one of them say. "Post a guard at every door." Dean slammed the door shut angrily, and Pala approached him.

"Don't worry, Pala," he said. He technically knew that Pala couldn't understand a wood he said, but Pala was smart either way, and Dean liked to pretend. "If Michael thinks he can keep us here, then he's wrong!"

"Don't act rashly, child," The archdeacon said as he approached. "You created quite a stir at the festival. I would suggest you not incur Michael's anger any further. He has…quite the temper."

"But you saw what he did out there!" Dean exclaimed, attempting to keep his voice low. There were other people present in the church with them. "He let the crowd torture that poor man. I thought, maybe, if one person could stand up to him…" Dean sighed. "Of course, he doesn't even consider me to be a person anyways. I mean, what do they have against people who are different, anyways?"

"You can't right all the wrongs in this world by yourself," the archdeacon informed him.

"Well, no one out there's going to help me, that's for sure!" Dean shoved an accusing finger towards the door of the church.

"Perhaps, there's someone here who can." The archdeacon gave Dean a knowing smile and then left him, leaving Dean to move about the church alone, to figure out what he was going to do.

Dean walked quietly around the dimmed cathedral, whispering to herself under his breath. Part of it was praying, part of it was just a silent plea to anyone who was listening.

"I don't know if you can here me," he said. "Or if you're even there. I mean, would you even listen to a prayer from a gypsy? I mean, I know what I am. I'm an outcast, society doesn't want me. But…I can't help but wonder, were you once an outcast, too?" He paused and gazed up at a statue of the Virgin Mary. "Please, God, help the us, the outcasts. There are so many of us, hungry since the moment we were born. Please, just, show them mercy, because they sure as hell won't find it here. Please, Lord, help my people. No one else well."

Dean continued wandering. In the quiet, any murmured prayer was amplified, as if a person were fully speaking it aloud. He wasn't trying to overhear people's prayers, but he did. He wasn't surprised. People were asking for love, fame, fortune, luck. He sat down in a pew and gazed up at the cross with tears in his eyes.

"I ask for nothing," he murmured. "I can get by, but not everyone is so lucky. Please, Lord, help us, help those who can't help themselves. Aren't we all your children?"

Dean paused, waiting, hoping for any kind of answer, but none was forthcoming.

There was only an accusing voice, ringing across the space.

"You, bell ringer!" a man exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"


	7. Chapter 7

This is _probably_ the last update for today. But you never know. The next chapter is the one I've been looking forward to the most, and...well, you'll see. I'm sorry for how cracky this chapter turned out to be. Really, I am. Someone just cut off my internet already.

Okay.

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><p>Dean looked up, just in time to see Castiel scramble away, noisily knocking over a candelabra in his surprise.<p>

"Haven't you caused enough trouble already?"

Castiel took off running up the stairs, but Dean followed. "Wait, I need to talk to you!"

As Dean ran up the stairs, the statues watched from above.

"Look!" Gabriel exclaimed excitedly. "He's got a friend with him."

"Yeah, maybe today wasn't a total loss after all," Balthazar added dryly.

"Quite attractive, he is," was Crowley's contribution as he gazed down at Dean. The other statues turned to stair. "What? You guys weren't going to say it, but someone had to!"

Castiel entered the tower.

"Cas!" Gabriel exclaimed, at the same time that Balthazar shouted, "Congratulations!"

"Got the guy already, eh?" Gabriel went on, elbowing Castiel in the side.

"Actually, I-" Castiel tried to start, but Balthazar cut him off.

"You mustn't run so fast, Castiel," he instructed. "Or, he'll get away."

"Yes, I-I-I know that," Castiel stammered, flustered and unable to get a word in edgewise with the statues. "That's what-"

"Give him some slack," Gabriel instructed, "then reel'im in. Then give him some slack, then reel'im in. Then give him some slack-"

"Knock it off," Crowley commanded. "He's a man, not a bloody trout!"

Dean entered, then, silencing the statues. "Here you are," he said, relieved. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Yes, well, um," Castiel stammered, as he often did in the presence of others. It had never really been a problem before. "I, uh, I have chores to do. It was, uh, nice…seeing…you…again…?"

Castiel ran again, fleeing to the upper pathways as Dean called after him and chased him. Castiel had lived his entire life in this tower; he knew every nook and cranny and could get anywhere in under a minute. Dean was less fortunate, and had a bit more trouble, but he still did fairly well in keeping up with the fleeing hunchback. They came out in Castiel's main living space, with the scarred table and model of the city, complete with the newly made figuring of Dean to complete it. Dean-the real one, not the wooden figurine-looked around in awe.

"What is this place?" he asked as he looked around, turning in circles to do so.

"This is where I live," Castiel replied uncertainly.

Gesturing to the mobiles hanging from the ceiling. "Did you make these yourself?"

"Most of them." Castiel was studying Dean's reactions, but he had almost nothing to compare it to and he was surprisingly apprehensive.

Dean fingered the nearest mobile, sending many different beams of light in all directions, moving about randomly as the mobile continued moving. "These are amazing," Dean finally said, then turned to address Castiel. "If I could do this, you wouldn't find me on street corners, dancing and playing for coins!" Dean let out a laugh, but Castiel could tell he was being completely honest.

"But you're fantastic!" Castiel blurted, and then regretted his words. His cheeks flushed red.

"Well, it keeps us from starving, anyways." Dean noticed was covered the entirety of the larger table now. "What's this?"

"Oh, no, I'm not finished!" exclaimed Castiel, but Dean was already approaching the model of the city. "I still have to paint them, and, and..."

Dean leaned down and gingerly lifted two of the wooden figurines. He was amazed to realize that he recognized them! "The blacksmith, the baker." He gazed down at another two and laughed. "Michael and the archdeacon." He straightened and replaced the figurines in the exact places where they'd been lifted from. "You're a surprising person, Cas." He paused. "Not to mention, lucky. All this room to yourself!"

"Well, it's not just me," he trailed off. "There's also the statues, and of course, the bells." An idea struck him. "Would you like to meet them?"

"Of course!" Dean exclaimed. "Wouldn't we, Pala?" The goat let out an approving noise. Admittedly, it wasn't so much excitement about seeing the bells as curiosity about whet he meant by 'meet' them. Honestly, Castiel intrigued Dean. The way he went about things, and perceived them. He was always so flustered, and that could make him hard to talk to, but when one got past that, he was sweet and kind-hearted, and just wanted to be accepted. If anyone could, it was Dean who could relate.

"Follow me," Castiel instructed with one of his twisted grins. "I'll introduce you. This is Little Jo, and these are the triplets, John, Bobby, and Rufus."

"And which one is this?" Dean inquired, gesturing to largest, most beautiful of the lot.

"That one is Ellen," he answered, obviously pleased to have someone to share this with. He couldn't help but laugh a bit as Dean ducked under the skirt of the bell and shouted a big hello, listening to it echo and grinning as he ducked back out. "She likes you," he assured Dean. "Would you like to see more?"

"I'd love to," Dean assured him, and Castiel found that he truly liked that. The fact that Dean would 'love to' do anything with him. It made him feel important, like he was an actual person. And while the scratch on his cheek was a poignant reminder of just what people could be like, Dean seemed different, somehow. Better.

Castiel led Dean outside, to one of the pathways that overlooked Paris. The sun was setting, streaking the sky with every hue imaginable.

Dean gasped as he saw it. "I bet the king himself doesn't have a view like this!" he proclaimed. "I could stay up here forever."

Castiel's stomach squeezed in an altogether unfamiliar way at that. "Y-you could, you know," he stammered. He hadn't even considered that, but knowing that was a possibility, he suddenly wanted more than anything for Dean to stay with him.

"No, I couldn't…" Dean trailed off.

"But you have sanctuary!" Castiel insisted, moving closer.

"That's not freedom, Cas," clarified Dean. He sighed and moved away from the railing, pacing a bit. When he spoke again, it was with disdain, and based on the tone, Castiel guessed that Dean was quoting Michael. "'Gypsies don't do well inside stone walls.'" Dean exhaled deeply, obviously angered by the turn of events.

"But you're not like other gypsies!" Castiel insisted. "I mean, they're…evil…" He winced as he spoke, realizing too soon everything that was wrong with his words.

Dean turned on him sharply. "Who told you that?" he demanded.

"Michael," Castiel said, almost apologetically. "He raised me."

Dean marveled. "How could such a cruel man raise someone as kind as you?"

"Cruel?" Castiel exclaimed. "Oh, no, you have it all wrong! He saved my life. He took me in when no one else would. I'm a monster."

"He told you that?" Dean inquired, and there was a deep, yet calm, anger to his words.

"Look at me," was all Castiel said in reply.

"Give me your hand," Dean commanded.

Dean didn't wait for a response, just grabbed Castiel's hand and pulled it to him. "Why?"

"Just let me see," insisted the gypsy. He traced his fingers across the creases in Castiel's palm, and Castiel felt goosebumps raise across his arms at the contact. "Hmm, a long life line…oh, and see this one?" He gestured to one of the lines on Castiel's palm. "That one means your shy. And, wait! Oh, hmm…" He trailed off, sounding vaguely concerned.

"What?" exclaimed Castiel, suddenly worried.

"I don't see any," came Dean's vague reply, still sounding vaguely worried.

"Any what?"

"Monster lines," Dean clarified. "Not a single one. There are some other ones, here, though. Interesting…"

Castiel pulled his hand away. "What do you mean? What do you see?"

"I'd call them 'angel lines.' Now, you look at me." He waited until Castiel met his gaze fully before continuing. "Do you think I'm evil?"

"No, no, no!" Castiel insisted quickly. "You're kind, and good, and-"

"And a gypsy," Dean finished for him. "And hey, maybe Michael's wrong about both of us."

Castiel sighed, then looked up at Dean, making his decision quickly.

"You helped me," he said. "Now, it's my turn to help you."

"But there's no way out," Dean replied hopelessly. "There are soldiers at every door."

"Then we won't use a door," Castiel said and a wry smile.

Dean gave him a confused look. "You mean…_climb_ down?"

"Sure!" Castiel exclaimed, excited. "You carry Pala, I'll carry you."

"But, um, well…" Dean murmured something.

"What?" Castiel asked, unable to hear what Dean had said.

"I said, I'm afraid of heights," Dean admitted. "I mean, I'm even freaking out a little on this path. I don't think I could handle being _carried down the side of the cathedral_."

"Don't be afraid," Castiel murmured.

Dean took a deep breath, then turned to his goat. "Okay, come on Pala. Up, up!"

The goat let into his arms, and then he turned back to Castiel, saying, "You better know what you're doing, or else, I'll haunt your ass."

"The trick is not to look down," reassured Castiel.

He swung them over the edge of the railing, holding onto one of the water drains with one arm and Dean with the other. Years of climbing around in the tower had given him quite a bit of upper body strength, but this was the first time he'd climbed down the tower one handed, and with someone else's weight added, at that.

"You've done this before, right?" Dean asked cautiously, trying to reassure himself.

"Not with another person," he admitted, and then he let go, sliding down one of the slanted roofs and slowing himself with a free hand while Dean screamed. Castiel couldn't help but let out a laugh at the familiar exhilaration.

It took only about a minute to get down, and then he deposited Dean and Pala in an alley. Dean was shaking and he had to lean against a wall for support for a moment, but he was out of the cathedral, and he wasn't under arrest. He took some deep breaths, and Castiel spoke.

"I'll never forget you, Dean." Castiel wasn't stupid, he knew what was about to happen. Dean would run off to wherever it was that fugitives and gypsies went, and he'd surely never see him again, but Dean managed to surprise him with what he said next.

"Come with me, Cas!" Dean plead.

"What?"

"To the Court of Miracles," Dean explained. "Leave this place."

"Oh, no!" Castiel said quickly. "I'm never going back out there again. You saw what happened to me today. No, this is where I belong."

"Then I'll come and see you," Dean decided easily.

"Here?" Castiel was skeptical. "But the soldiers, and Michael, and…"

"I'll come after sunset." Dean seemed determined to find a way to see Castiel again, to get around all of the perceived flaws in the plan.

Castiel started rambling about what went on at sunset, his chores and the bells, and whatnot, but Dean silences him with a quick peck on the cheek.

"Whatever works for you." Then he reached inside his shirt and pulled out a strange ovular talisman and handed it to Castiel. It had strings across it, with a cross in the center and an X near the edge. Castiel didn't know what to make of it. "If you ever need sanctuary, this will show you the way."

Castiel was even more confused now. "But how?"

"Just remember," Dean instructed, "when you wear this woven band, you hold the city in your hand."

Pala bleated once, indicating that soldiers were coming. Dean turned to Castiel and smiled once. "Bye, Cas, and thanks." Castiel was left sputtering as Dean hurried from the alleyway and into the dark of the night.

Castiel sneaked around to the entrance and slipped inside unnoticed, ascending the stairs. But he wasn't there long before he heard another voice.

"Hello? Anyone here?" Castiel turned towards the entrance to his tower as the brown-haired captain entered. His eyes fell on the hunchback and a smile touched his lips. "Oh, hi! I'm looking for the gypsy man. Could you help me out?"

A burning rage filled Castiel and he rushed at the captain, grabbing a candelabra and swinging wildly, forcing the captain back down the stairs.

"Get out!" he screamed. "No soldiers are supposed to be here, he has sanctuary!" He swung again, almost coming into contact with the captain, but he sidestepped at the last moment. He was really having a bad night when it came to candelabras, he had to admit that.

"No, all I wanted was-"

"Go!" Castiel raged, driving the captain back further.

"_I mean him no harm!_" the captain insisted.

"Go," Castiel insisted.

He swung again, but this blow was slower, sloppier, and the captain grabbed it and pinned it to the wall, pulling Castiel closer to him. "Then tell him from me!" Sam exclaimed. "I had no intention of trapping him here, and I'm sorry for that," he shook Castiel once to make sure he was paying attention, "but it was the only way I could save him. Michael _can and will_ do worse things than kill you if he wants to. And trust me, he wants to. So will you tell him that?" Castiel gave no response. "_Will _you?" He shook Castiel again.

When he replied, his voice was low and strained and he tried to hold back the rage coursing through him. "If you go." The captain made no move. "Now!"

He nodded and turned, hurrying down the stairs, but then he stopped, turned. "Dean's lucky, you know. Not everyone has someone like you watching out for them."

"Like me?" Castiel inquired. Through experience, he guessed it was some insult, but something about the captain's tone made him wonder.

"You're a good friend." The captain turned again.

"Wait!" Castiel called to him. "What's your name?"

The captain turned back with a smile. "I'm Sam. And you are…?"

"C-Castiel," he replied with a smile.

"Well, I hope we can meet again, Castiel," Sam said. "And under better circumstances."


	8. Chapter 8

Hey, remember when I said I wouldn't update again today? lol! Yeah, sorry. And this one is really short, so sorry for that. But, I was really excited about this chapter! And I can't really fit it in with another chapter, because I want it to stand alone. Also, a note. This is my _favorite_ Disney song, as fucked up as it is. And I usually just try to incorporate songs into thoughts or dialogue, but I couldn't do that with this song, for obvious reasons. Also, this song has such cool scenery, so I really wanted to incorporate that, too. So, I tried. And I would up with a really creepy chapter. But it was fun to write Michael screaming and stuff! So, anyways. I won't make any promises about if I will or won't update again today, because I don't even know. I'm free until 4 and I have nothing else to do!

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><p>Across Paris, Michael was pacing in front of the fireplace. His chamber was dim; the broad fire did little to permeate the darkness that seemed to surround Michael everywhere he went since he'd laid eyes on the gypsy man. Dean, his name was. The name seemed to burn like acid on his tongue.<p>

Michael had ordered his guards to leave him, and then he'd closed the heavy doors, ensuring that no one outside of the chamber would hear him, no matter how loud he was.

And so he paced, every now and then casting a disgusted glance towards the fire, but turning away when he saw him there. Dean was in the flames, staring at him, accusing him.

Michael did the only thing he could do. He prayed.

"Blessed mother," he plead into the flames, shutting his eyes to block out the gaze of the gypsy. "I beg you for your help. I have always been a righteous man, you know that. I am virtuous, I follow your will. You _know_ that I'm better, purer, than the common, vulgar _peasant_."

His voice was rising quickly. "So tell me, blessed mother, why do I see him? He gazes at me through the flames, his smoldering eyes scorching my body and soul."

"I feel him!" he cried. "I see him! The sun shining through his dark hair, eyes glinting, and I can't keep on that much longer! So let him feel the fires of hell! Because this fire in my skin will consume me, soon, and I will turn to vice."

Suddenly, he was no longer standing before the fireplace in his chamber. He was, instead, surrounded by many cloaked figures, the choirs of hell and judgement, chanting their condemnation down upon him.

"It's not my fault!" he insisted as wide-eyed terror began to engulf him, like flames. "It's the gypsy man, the sorcerer who sent this flame. How am I to blame if God made the devil so much stronger than a man?" He let out an agonized cry, and the figures seemed to disintegrate into smoke and fade, leaving him on his knees before the fire once more. "Protect me, Maria! Don't let him cast another spell, don't let him sear me and everything that I am! Destroy him, let him taste fire and brimstone and damnation!" His voice fell and he reached towards Dean, towards the flames. "Or else, let him be mine, and mine alone. He _is_ mine!" His gaze darkened. "It's your turn now, gypsy! You burned me, and I shall burn you back! Choose me or the pyre, your choice!"

His face fell forward as he began to weep. "God have mercy on me," he sobbed. "And on him. But he will be mine!"

"Or he will burn.


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry about the delay! I honestly thought I'd have this project done by today, but then I didn't even write any of it until about twenty minutes ago when I randomly started, and now here, have a random chapter. Well, not random. WINCESTNESS! I swear legit Destielness is coming up, okay? This is a Destiel fic, okay? Okay? But still, sorry about the delay. I'm rewriting my NaNoWriMo, and dream sequences, while fun, take up a lot of my time, energy, and creativity. And let me tell you, most of my plot for NaNo last year was carried by dream sequences. But now, here's the chapter! Reviews, please?

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><p>Sam greeted Michael at the Palace of Justice the next day. "Good morning, sir," he said, following close behind the judge as they entered the massive building. Michael didn't reply. "Are you all right, sir?"<p>

"Just a hard night's sleep," Michael muttered, but Sam only heard part of it.

"I see," he replied. He didn't dare ask the man to repeat, so he just continued on. "Orders?"

"Find the gypsy."

The search was frantic and unyielding, ransacking homes of peasants and farmers. There was outrage as people were openly accused of harboring him in the streets. There was a reward offered for him, too, but no one took it up. It seemed that anyone who knew the location of Dean was well-trusted, or their price simply hadn't been met as of yet.

Sam reached his price much sooner, though. It came when he was issued an order that he could not possible carry out-burn a family while they were trapped in their home. Of course, he refused! He doused the torch insolently, but it did no good. Michael grabbed another torch and began burning the home.

Sam acting without thinking, bursting in through a window and beating down the door from the inside to get them out. When he lay on the ground, wheezing from the heat and smoke inhalation, Michael loomed over him, still on the back of his horse, eyes flashing dangerously. "It seems, Captain, that the sentence for insubordination is death." Michael clucked his tongue. "It's a pity, really. You threw away an extremely promising career."

Michael grabbed his sword and raised it above Sam, preparing to strike him down. Sam lashed out and kicked the horse's leg. The creature bucked and threw Michael off easily, and in the confusion, Sam managed to climb aboard the horse, running off at full speed. A few arrows flew by behind him, and then more. He felt a sharp pain in his shoulder and cried out as an arrow struck him.

And so the order was given to return to the search for Dean. Sam could die on his own, for all Michael cared. No one could survive that wound, after all. They found themselves back at Notre Dame, with Michael gazing up at the spires. "I had the entire cathedral surrounded, did I not?" he asked the nearest guard. The guard attempted to sputter out a reply, but Michael cut him off, continuing. "There were men posted at every door. There is no way she could have escaped." His eyes lighted across the towers again, and, in particular, the bell tower, home to Castiel. "Ah."

Up in the tower, Castiel was frantic. "Any sign of him?" he inquired of the statues.

"No, we haven't learned anything in the past two minutes, Cas," Balthazar said dryly.

"Shut up, Balthy," Gabriel chastised, turning back to Castiel. "I'm sure she's just fine, kiddo."

"Now, let's not over-coddle the boy," Crowley warned.

"You're right!" burst out Balthazar, adding an air of sarcastic dramatization to his words. "He could be anywhere, couldn't she? In the stocks, the dungeon, the rack, dying in a ditch of plague!" He let out a few convincing, if not a bit overdramatic, sobs, but all present company knew better.

"Okay, yeah, shut up, Balthazar," Crowley agreed.

"But he's right!" Castiel exclaimed. "We have no idea where Dean is. What are we going to do? What _can_ we do?"

"Cas, stop worrying!" Gabriel exclaimed, "If I know Dean-o, he's still a few steps ahead of Michael, and he has something up his sleeve."

"You think so, Gabe?"

"When things cool off, you'll see," the statue assured. "He'll be right back here, running back to you and begging forgiveness through putting you through all this stress."

Castiel let out a bitter laugh. "And what makes you all so sure?"

"You're blind, as well as deformed, aren't you, Castiel?" Crowley said. "I've long suspected, but I've never been able to prove it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that anyone can see that he's over the bloody moon for you!" Crowley shouted, whacking Castiel over the head with a book a couple times.

Crowley ended that conversation with his exclamation, but the silencing stretching between them was soon broken by the squeak of the door and, sure enough, Dean's voice calling out.

"Cas?" he said, uncertain in the darkness. "Castiel? You here?"

"Dean?" Castiel replied excitedly, rushing over to him. "Dean, you're all right! I was worried."

"Cas, I need to thank you. You've done so much for me already, and you're one of the bet friends I've ever had." Castiel could already sense the '_but_' coming up. "But I have to ask one more thing."

"Anything!" Castiel assured him.

Dean sidled over a bit, bringing into view the limp form of Sam. Blood was dripping down his side and there was a gruesome wooden shaft sticking out of his shoulder.

"He's wounded," Dean explained. "He's a fugitive, too, and he was injured because of me. He won't last much longer, Cas, I know that, but I also know that he'll be safe here." Dean had too much pride to actually ask aloud for help, but even in the dim light, Castiel could see the question in his eyes.

"Okay, bring him here," he said, nodding and leading Dean over to the bed, where they laid him down on top of the worn quilt.

He moaned in pain and roused slightly. "Dean?" the word was faint and mumbled, but obviously there.

"Quiet, Sammy," Dean growled, already looking at the other man's shoulder. "You need to rest here for a while, until you can heal up. You understand?" Dean pulled a flask out of his shirt and poured the contents over the wound. Sam winced and moaned again, squeezing his eyes shut against the burn, but had no other reaction. "Thanks," Dean said suddenly. "For what you did back there, I mean. I knew the family, and they were covering for me, even when I told them they didn't have to. They owe you their lives. And, honestly…I can't tell if you're extremely brave or just extremely crazy."

"The best people are a bit of both, I think," Sam murmured.

"One thing's for sure," Dean went on as he continued tending to the wound, pulling out the shaft amidst moans and soft cries from Sam, "you're one lucky son of a bitch. A bit to the right, and you'd be a dead man. It'd have pierced your heart."

Dean and Sam locked eyes, and Castiel turned away before he could see any more. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know exactly what was between the two men, if anything. He'd rather live in ignorance and delusion. He'd spent the rest of his life that way, hadn't he? Why change now?

Castiel wandered to the raining and looked down towards the plaza, where he saw forty men with torches, and the unmistakable figure of Michael


	10. Chapter 10

This is probably really derpy because I wrote it really quickly and it hasn't been proofread, but oh well. Sorry I stopped updating! :P

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><p>Castiel turned to Dean quickly. "You have to go! Michael is coming, and he won't be happy that you escaped."<p>

"Be careful, Cas," Dean said seriously. Castiel tried to brush it off, but Dean caught his eye and held his gaze. "Please, promise me."

"I promise."

"Thank you." Dean looked only slightly relieved. He have Castiel a sad look, then turned and hurried out the door with Pala. Then, he dragged Sam as carefully as he could and pushed him under the table, all the way against the wall. He was almost completely invisible. Michael entered right after he'd risen from stashing the Captain, and Castiel looked up in surprise, both feigned and legitimate.

"Michael!" he exclaimed, immediately flustered. "I-I didn't realize you'd be coming."

"I'm never too busy to dine with you, Castiel, you know that." It seemed like the already thinly-veiled condescension in Michael's voice was blatant at this point. Or maybe Castiel had just grown wiser about the kind of man his guardian happened to be. "In fact, I brought you something."

Castiel swallowed as he rushed to grab the dishes, though his hands were shaking so hard, he dropped one of the plates and his own wooden cup fell off the table.

"Something wrong?" Michael inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"No, no, it's all fine!" Castiel insisted.

"But something is obviously troubling you," Michael insisted.

"I assure you, Michael, it's nothing," Castiel replied. "Just, an upset stomach is all. Nothing serious." He'd never been a good liar, but with Sam's life depending on it, he had to be.

"Something's different in here," Michael intoned as he rose from his seat and strode around the place.

"Nothing has changed." His stomach dropped as his voice cracked, though he hoped Michael would simply chalk it up to his "upset stomach."

"I know you helped him," Michael said. It took a moment for Castiel to realize what he'd said, and then his eyes widened, but he said nothing to either confirm or deny Michael's words. The older man gazed out the window. The red glow was getting brighter. "Paris is burning to the ground because of you, Castiel."

"He was kind to me!" Castiel exclaimed, unable to remain silent any longer. He'd been holding his tongue for years, and he couldn't stand it any longer.

He was met with a condescending laugh. "You're an idiot. That wasn't kindness, it was pity, cunning. He's a gypsy. His people are not capable of love, or kindness. Think! Think about your filthy whore of a mother."

Michael took a moment to compose himself and let his words hover between them.

"But you never stood a chance against him, did you? Poor, misshapen, feeble-minded. But never mind that. He'll be dead by the next time Paris sees daylight, and he'll be gone from our lives. He will torment me no longer."

Castiel looked up sharply. "Torment _you_?"

"What are you talking about? I said he would no longer torment _you!_ Do listen, Castiel! As I was saying, I have located his hideout, and tomorrow morning, we shall storm it and arrest the thieves. Now, sadly, I must leave. You've kept me longer than I should have stayed. We'll continue this tomorrow."

He left and the next thing Castiel heard was a groan from under the table. Sam pulled himself out weakly, looking up at the deformed man.

"We need to get to the thieves' hideout. Now.


	11. Chapter 11

Wow, it's really been a while! I'm sorry I didn't update sooner, I feel bad about it. I wrote so much so quickly, and just kinda burned out all of my motivation. I'm not even supposed to be updating fics right now, really. I want to continue revising my OF and that's not happening... Oops. Either way, this chapter is REALLY short, but I'm hoping it will get me going again. :)

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><p>Castiel looked at Sam hesitantly, biting his lip. "What is it?" Castiel could see the accusation in Sam's eyes, but he remained silent. "Cas, we're going to save them, aren't we?"<p>

"But, Michael is-"

"He's what?" Sam demanded angrily.

"He's my master."

"And Dean's your friend!" Sam insisted.

"I can't disobey him again!"

"Dean stood up for you, saved you from the crowds at the festival," Sam reminded him. "Time you repaid the favor."

Castiel turned away.

"You know what? Do what you want," Sam said dismissively. "But I'm not going to let Michael massacre them. Not tonight, not ever."

Sam left without another word, leaving Sam to his thoughts. He turned one way, then the other, uncertain how to proceed. Finally, he groaned and raced out the door and down the stairs, catching Sam in the alley next to the Cathedral.

"Sam!" he called out, and the other man turned to him, smiling in surprise. "I'm coming with."

Sam grinned. "Glad you could make it!"

"Don't think this is for you," Castiel warned. "I'm doing it for him."

"I know," Sam nodded. "Now, come on. I know where they are."

They hurried through back allies and side streets, coming to a nondescript lane where Sam halted without warning. Castiel nearly fell over in his attempt to stop, struggling to suck in enough air from so much exertion. "Where" gasp "are we?"

"It's commonly referred as the Devil's Court," Sam explained. "I wasn't captain of the police for long, but I've been here long enough to locate this place. Not that Michael needed to know."

"But I thought you were on his side?" Castiel was thoroughly confused. He'd known where this was the entire time?

"I did a bit of my own investigating," Sam shrugged. "Turns out, most of them are families, woman and children who've been taken in by the thieves and given a place to stay. Sure, they steal, but they can't be all bad, can they?" Castiel couldn't find a way to argue with that, so he simply nodded and followed Sam through a hidden door beneath a sack of potatoes, down a pathway, and into the Devil's Court


	12. Chapter 12

And another short chapter. Oops. Have fun with the cliffie xD

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><p>Inside the passageway, they angle declined rapidly and then leveled out, leaving the two of them in a dark, damp passageway. Castiel couldn't even see Sam, though he could hear the other man's breathes only a few feet away.<p>

All sounds were amplified inside the stone passage, and they weren't entirely sure what the cause of all of them were. There were whispers in the dark, the shifts of people and clothing. Every murmur made Castiel uneasy, made shivers run up his spine.

"Hello?" Sam called out, hearing his voice echo back to them almost immediately. Sam's footsteps fell silent, and Castiel stopped as well. "Are we alone?"

At that moment, a slew of shouts rang through the corridor, and Castiel and Sam found themselves restrained with arms tight to their jugulars while the sudden ignition of multiple torches blinded them.

"That would be a negatory," replied a figure that was striding forward, weaving easily between the seeming army of thieves. "In fact, there are quite a few of us here, all wondering what the good captain here," he walked up to Sam, leaving only a few inches between them as he stared the larger man down fiercely, "and the judge's ward," he moved to Castiel now, doing the same, "could _possibly_ want at the Devil's Court."

"We're looking for someone," Sam tried to explain, getting a laugh from Ash.

"I'm pretty sure you're looking for all of us," Ash agreed.

Sam seemed to give up on dealing with the jester. "Look," he said, "I may work for Michael, but he just tried to have me killed. On top of that, I'm on the police force because I actually _believe_ in justice. So, you guys can waste your time on us, and you can all get massacred when Michael gets here in the morning, or you can let us help you and you can survive."

"Michael knows where we are?" Ash asked, equal parts incredulous and angry.

"He's known for a long time," Sam clarified, jaw set. "He's simply been waiting for the right time."

"And what makes now the right time?" Ash demanded.

"That'd be me," a deep voice supplied. Dean stepped out from behind Ash's men.

"And who are you?" Ash quirked an eyebrow.

"The name's Dean," he said. "Just got here today. Michael's pretty keen on finding me."

Ash's eyes traveled the length of Dean, taking him in.

"Then leave us," he decided. "You're the reason Michael's coming, and I'm not putting all these people at risk because of you."

"It won't change anything!" Castiel exclaimed. "He's already on his way. You need to get out."

"And where are we supposed to go?" Ash inquired dryly. "There are several _thousand_ of us here. We can't just take to the streets of Paris."

"Then it appears your story is at an end," a sneer echoed through the space.

Michael had arrived


	13. Chapter 13

So apparently, I'm just posting a lot of short chapters tonight. Part of that is because things are moving really quickly right now, and part of that is becaues I'm not sure how long this motivation will last. So, here! Have short chapters and cliffies xD

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><p>Michael let out a chuckle as a chorus of gasps were released. "It appears that I've caught two traitors tonight, in addition to this…<em>establishment."<em>

"Traitors?" Dean demanded. "No, Sam and Cas aren't traitors. Only traitor I see here is you."

Michael snarled. "How dare you speak to me like that, gypsy! Me, seize him."

No one made a move to protect Dean as the soldiers rushed through the crowd, grabbing him roughly by the arms.

Everything started happening so quickly. Sam ran for it, disappearing into the crowd before anyone could get to him, while Dean was led away in chains and two more guards grabbed Castiel by the arms. They were led away separately. Castiel was led back to the tower, once such a comforting place, and chained to the main wall. Pull and tug as much as he could, he was unable to break the bonds and he cried out in despair.

Far below, he had a clear view of the proceedings. Michael was decidedly absent, and there was no sign of Dean or Sam, but Castiel could easily see what they were doing.

They were building a pyre.

Castiel cried out again, this time in anguish, as the manacles dug deeper into his flesh. There he stayed for hours, spending all of his energy to fight against his bonds and try to distract him from what was going on below. Each bit of wood seemed to doll out the minutes until Dean would be burned. Castiel couldn't watch, and yet he couldn't look away.

Before long, the sun has gotten low, a crowd has gathered, and Dean is led out, arms chained behind him, fighting wildly against the soldiers escorting him. Castiel let out another cry, feeling the chains begin to pull loose as Dean was lashed to the pyre with rope, and the torches were brought closer.

Castiel pulled more, praying that he wasn't imagining his progress, eyes glued to the proceedings. His hand came loose!

And the torch was dropped.

The wood ignited immediately, consumed by the spreading red glow, when suddenly, Sam was there, all brown hair and long limbs, slashing the rope that held Dean to the pyre and pulling him along with. They made a beeline for the Cathedral, where the Bishop was waiting with the doors open. People parted the way for them, as Dean was still smoldering a bit, limping along and struggling to keep up with Sam, but the taller man was holding only him tightly, refusing to let him fall behind. Castiel heard the beginning of the word "sanctuary" as the doors slammed closed


	14. Chapter 14

Hey look, a final chapter! It took me a lot longer than I thought to finish it, but it's about the length I figured it would be. Thanks to anyone who's read this much! Please review, tell me what you thought! Also, I think I'm going to write another Disney AU. I was planning on writing Sabriel Beauty and the Beast, but apparently, another person beat me to that, so I might to Johnlock Beauty and the Beast. Or Sabriel Little Mermaid. Or do you guys have any requests? I want to do something with Mulan or Hercules. Send me requests, if you want to, I'm willing to write for Avengers, Supernatural, Doctor Who/Torchwood, Good Omens, or Sherlock.

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><p>The entire plaza was in an uproar at what had just transpired. Never before had anyone escaped from their execution, or at least not anyone that could be remembered. Michael was already taking action, calling to his soldiers, "Seize the cathedral! The Bishop shall learn that not even the Lord can stand in the way of justice!"<p>

Soldiers set to work, attempting to batter down the door as Castiel finally got the other hand free. He rushed down the tower into the church, coming upon Sam just as Dean collapsed, pulling Sam down, too. Castiel rushed to them, managing to catch Dean's head so that it didn't crack against the hard stone floor.

Sam looked at Castiel and was about to speak, but the continued banging against the door was a staccato reminder of the imminent danger.

"Up in the tower," Sam said. "Quickly."

Castiel nodded and picked up Dean easily, hurrying up the stairs with Sam on his heels. Sam cleared the few bits of rubbish off the bed before Castiel set Dean on the bed, as gently as he could. The banging continued, and Sam gave him a serious look.

"They'll be here soon. I should go, maybe I can stall them."

Castiel nodded and Sam gave both him and Dean a sad look before rushing from the room. When he was alone again, he turned back to Dean, kneeling beside him.

"We've done it, Dean," he said quietly. "You can wake up now. You're safe."

There was no response.

"Dean?" he was slightly more frantic, shaking his shoulders. "Oh, no." Tears began to stream down his face and he looked up to see Michael taking measured steps across the room. "You killed him!" he exploded.

"It was my duty, Castiel!" Michael replied, but there was a hint of regret in his tone. A twisted emotion, especially coming from such a warped individual. Castiel had never been able to fully see it before, but he could recognize it now. There wasn't anything right about Michael. He was evil, pure and simple. "And now it's done, and you can forgive me. Your suffering has come to an end, and things can return to normal."

There was a small spot of light and Castiel pulled out of reach just as Michael's dagger came down, where his heart had been moments before. Castiel rushed Michael, forcing him to the ground and managing to knock the blade from his hands.

"Castiel, listen to me!" Michael insisted, seeing the murderous glint in the hunchback's eyes.

"No, _master_, it's your turn to listen," Cas spat. "You lied to me. My entire life, you lied to me. Told me the world is dark, that is' cruel and evil and empty, but you can't lie to me anymore. The only thing I know that's cruel and evil and empty is you. Why should I let you live?"

"Because you're not me," Michael replied, voice remarkably even.

Castiel made a grab for the knife, pressing it to Michael's throat, pricking a bit of blood from the taught flesh. "Are you willing to bet your life on that?"

"Cas!" a deep voice exclaimed.

"Dean!" Castiel cried in relief, looking up from Michael.

"He lives," Michael murmured, taking the moment of distraction to push Castiel away and get back to his feet, grabbing for his sword and Dean. He held the sword to Dean's neck and backed them onto the balcony.

Castiel followed them out, moving cautiously, aware of how close the thin blade was to Dean's throat.

"Let him go, please!" Castiel plead. "I'll do anything."

Michael perked up at that. "Anything? Really?"

"Yes, m-master." He hated how his voice shook on the word, but even more, he hated how the word sounded on his lips. "We can go back to how it was. I won't disobey again."

Michael let out a laugh. "I should have known you'd give up for this swine." Hw dropped the sword and released Dean, beginning to step around him without regard for the man's actions. "Now I'm going to do what I should have done twenty years ago." He raised the sword, just to be hit in the head with the fist of a large gypsy man.

Dean glared at Michael and Castiel gasped in shock as the judge stumbled backward, overbalanced against the banister, and fell.

Castiel let out a shout and rushed to the edge, unable to grasp what had just happened, reaching out into space for the man whose life had just ended. He let out a sob. It wasn't sadness, and there were no tears. He slid to the ground and felt Dean's arms around him.

"It had to be done," Dean murmured. "I'm sorry, Cas."

Castiel nodded, closing his eyes and focusing on Dean's warmth while the other man continued purring the words, "It's over," as if assuring himself just as much as Castiel.

~X~

"So here is a riddle you never can guess!" sing the bells of Notre Dame. "What makes a monster and what makes a man?


End file.
